


Caretaking

by volatileSoloist



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Memory Loss, Minor Violence, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8971621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist
Summary: Roadhog has come to learn about some of the bodyguarding responsibilities that weren't in the job description.This is unbeta'd, so if you notice any mistakes, feel free to point them out in the comments.





	

No one knows more about the ups and downs of bodyguarding than Roadhog. It’s been almost a year since the deal, and not a day goes by where he doesn’t wonder why he signed up to do it.

“Oi, Roadie, get a load of this!” His boss catches his attention from across the expansive hotel room they’ve bullied their way into, and Roadhog is immediately on alert by the tone of his voice. And for good reason, too, since it looks like Junkrat is about to juggle several of his frag grenades.

It only takes a few large, stomping steps to cross the distance, and he grabs him by the prosthetic arm and glares down at him. Junkrat slowly looks up at him, giggling nervously. “Oh c’mon, mate, they ain’t live or nothing!”

Roadhog merely grunts in response, and gingerly pries the bombs out of Junkrat’s hands. The man huffs, and walks away to flop on the bed. The smaller Junker is by no means actually small, but the size and plushness of the bed is enough to make it seem like he’s drowning in it. Roadhog ignores him in favor of putting the bombs back in the duffle, and then quickly stashes it away since he knows Junkrat isn’t paying attention.

Junkrat, meanwhile, rolls around in the bed like a piglet in mud. “Would it _kill_ you to stay still for once?” Hog snaps out.

The younger man whines. “Y’know I can’t help it, mate. ‘M so bored!”

“Read a book.” Roadhog jerks a thumb toward the bookshelf in the corner. They’re not a common feature in most of the hotels they’ve stayed in, but this one must be extra ritzy.

“Don’t wanna.”

“Why not?” The bodyguard is quickly becoming more and more exasperated. For once, he’s got plenty of things he could be doing, and is choosing to be a pain instead.

“Head hurts.”

At those words, Roadhog freezes. “How bad?” he asks, voice terse.

“Fucking awful, that’s how bad!” The younger man snaps at him, and curls into a fetal position. He balls up his fists, and the metal fingers of his prosthetic make a grating sound from how hard he clenches them.

Roadhog is immediately at his side. “Did you hit your head today?” They’d pulled off a successful heist earlier in the afternoon, and Roadhog hadn’t been keeping the closest eye on his charge now that he knew he could handle himself. Still he sometimes would detonate his jump mines indoors, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d bumped his head on a rafter.

“No.” Suddenly, Junkrat doesn’t seem talkative any more, and that’s another worrying sign. Roadhog slowly lifts him off the bed and slides him under the sheets, tucking them in neatly around Junkrat. “What’re you doing, ya drongo?” Junkrat’s protest is muttered and weak.

“You need to sleep.” Roadhog doesn’t know if sleep will help. He can’t think of anything that has definitely helped yet. It’s worth it to give it a try, if it means that they can stave off what comes next. A year’s been long enough to notice the pattern, but not long enough to figure out how to stop it.

Fortunately, he doesn’t get any more arguing, and the blonde quickly drops off into sleep. Now, he’s still and silent, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. Junkrat makes noise at all hours of the day, even when he sleeps. Quiet is not a good thing when it comes to his employer.

Roadhog settles next to Junkrat on the bed, and leans back against the headboard. In a hotel like this, it’s sturdy enough to put his weight on it without worrying about it breaking. He keeps an unwavering watch on the smaller man, listening to nothing but the hum of the air conditioning. There’s something soothing about it, and he feels his guard—and his eyelids— lowering against his will.

It seems like only a moment has passed, but the next time he opens his eyes, the space in the bed next to him is cold and empty, and fear instantly begins to claw at Roadhog’s nerves.

But he doesn’t allow himself to panic. Rat could possibly be in the bathroom, and he’d prefer not to startle him. He’s learned that the hard way. But when he makes his way over and opens the door, it’s empty too. Nothing but the gleam of marble and porcelain, and none of it is comforting.

Stomping back into the main room, he finds the remote for the flatscreen TV and flicks it on. It only takes a few channel changes to find what he’s looking for.

A newscaster in a flashy blue dress talks urgently through the screen. “There are reports of an explosion down in the condemned district. Early reports tell us that it could have been a gas leak, but police remain skeptical and warn that there are signs of tampering. They are currently scanning the area for suspects. Among them are the notorious criminals, Roadhog and Junkrat, last spotted in—”

Roadhog turns off the television; it’s all he needs to know. Of all his gear, he pauses only to take his hook. He won’t need his gun for this. Then he tromps out of the hotel, and is only slightly out of breath by the time he reaches the chopper. He revs the engine, and takes briefly comfort in the roar and smell of petrol. Then he takes off, speeding down backroads as fast as he can. He needs to avoid attention, but he needs even more to be quick.

He’s almost made it to the site of the explosion—it wasn’t hard to find, since the plume of smoke was visible from a mile away—when another blast echoes in the distance, lighting up the sky and sending chunks of debris in every direction. Roadhog immediately turns his bike in that direction and guns it harder. He needs to be the first person there; by now, the cops will have realized they’ve got more than a gas leak on their hands.

It’s lucky that Junkrat wound up in the condemned district; there’s less chance of collateral damage. Not that Roadhog cares if a few civvies die, but it would mean faster police mobilization. He can’t afford that right now, not when the stakes are so high.

 _It’s a shame too,_ Roadhog reflects as he rides. _He’s gone so long without one of these fits._ Junkrat is impulsive and unreliable on a good day, but when he’s in one of these moods… well, it’s not good for anyone.

He pulls up to the burning building, a tall, shabby-looking apartment complex, and as a section of it crumbles, he spots a tall, spiky silhouette in one of the higher windows. _Goddamnit._

Roadhog dismounts his bike and immediately hurries forward. He’s got no hope of entering the building, as the threshold has already caved in due to the force of the blast, but he doesn’t need to. He makes a few quick calculations in his head—Lord knows he’s never been good at math, but he’s been using his hook long enough to know how to throw it where he wants it to go—and swings the curved metal behind him in an arcing loop. Then, as it gathers enough speed, he throws it forward, up to the window where he knows his boss is trapped.

It flies past the windowsill and inside, and he hears a yelp as he hits his target. Immediately he feels a sense of undue relief, but he ignores it in favor of pulling Junkrat out of the building with all of his might. And out he comes, clutching and scrabbling at the ledge as he fights against the inevitable pull of the hook digging into his side. Then, with a screech, he falls down, and into Roadhog’s waiting arms.

The impact knocks the air out of the smaller man, but almost immediately he’s fighting his way out of an iron grip, flailing like his life depends on it. “Rat,” Roadhog grunts, trying to get a good hold on Junkrat as he squirms around. He feels a dull pang and registers that Junkrat’s biting him, sharp teeth buried into his arm and tearing. Immediately he pulls him back by the scruff and wrenches the Junker off of him.

He finally pins Junkrat down to get the hook out of his side, and the younger man cries out in pain, panicking further. Roadhog manages to get a grip on his head to keep it still, and he confirms what he’s suspected all along: Junkrat’s eyes are glazed over, full of fear and anger but hardly registering anything around him. He rubs a thumb across the younger man’s forehead, and he flinches, letting out a whine.

Hog keeps going, and he hopes it’ll be enough to calm him out of his irrational state. He gingerly picks up the squirming man and holds him close. “Calm down,” he rumbles. “If you can hear me, calm down.”

Slowly, Junkrat’s struggles begin to cease, but Hog’s not ready to get his hopes up. He pulls him away and pulls open half-closed eyelids to see if he’s improved, but no, his eyes are still dim. Wrapping the chain loosely around his charge, Roadhog secures the hook to the bike and settles the now-calmer and tied-down Junkrat into his sidecar. They pull away and race down quiet streets, just as they hear police sirens in the distance.

Finally, _finally_ , they make it back to the hotel, and Hog parks at the back entrance, same as before, and covertly carries Junkrat into a service elevator. They reach their penthouse suite with no fanfare, which for once is vastly preferable. There’s no more struggling, just half-hearted, quiet squirming.

Once inside, he locks the door and places Junkrat on the bed so that he sits on the edge of it—he doesn’t want to force him to lie down, since it’ll make him panic. Then he begins to patch up the wounds in his side, left from the nails on the curve of his hook. He makes quick work of it, and before long Hog himself is sitting, slightly exhausted, on the edge next to him.

Bodyguarding is hard, especially when part of the job description is caretaking; Hog wished he’d known about this when he signed up. He was vastly underprepared for this… condition. He sits next to Junkrat in silence for a long while, but this time he refuses to doze off.

It takes maybe another hour for his charge to come to. He hears a faint groan, and then suddenly Junkrat leans his head onto Roadhog’s shoulder. “Hoggy, mate… why does my side feel like it’s on bloody fire?”

It’s not a big surprise that Junkrat doesn’t remember. He never does. “You fell off the bed and onto my hook.

“Why the hell was your hook lying next to the bed? Don’t do that, ya dipstick.” Junkrat looks tired, but seems to be regaining his wits quickly enough.

Roadhog knows that there’s something medically wrong with Junkrat. It’s the only explanation. And with the headaches, irrationality and memory loss issues, Hog’s almost certain that it’s something to do with his brain. He feels, not for the first time, a pang of regret, because it’s gotta be a result of the radiation from the Omnium explosion. But he knows Junkrat will never agree to see a doctor. All he can do is humor him and hope that whatever the problem is, it’s not life threatening. He’d hate to cut their crime-spree short; it’s the most fun he’s had in ages, and Junkrat still has so much more of the world to see. He wants to make it up to the kid, if he can. 

So he humors him.

“Sure thing, boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching an old TV show where on of the plot points was that someone committed a crime, but forgot about it because of a brain tumor that was pressing on the parts of the brain that had to do with memory. So I did a little of the pseudoscience and found out that yes, brain tumors can cause memory loss, irrational behavior, and in some cases, aggressiveness.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Capture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083848) by [InsertImaginativeNameHere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/pseuds/InsertImaginativeNameHere)




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